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A throbbing headache, a sick stomach, and a pair of foggy eyes greet me when I surface to consciousness. The soft leather caressing my cheek and head on an incline, with the rest of my body lying flat. The fog in my eyes dissipates as I looked around the room and I recognize a painting of a fruit bowl and the lamp at my feet. Curiously, I look at the time on the cable box to see that I woke up at 4:24 P.M. My senses finally turning on as began to realize I was on my couch, in my living room, still in my garb from the funeral service. How did I end up here? Was my car still at the church? I remember nothing in between my encounter with that ‘thing’ and Jeff and when I woke up.

I rose up from the couch, feeling every muscle complain about the aches they felt from being in one position for too long. I look out the window behind the couch and sure enough, my little silver car was in the driveway in the dim afternoon. I must have had some sort of out-of-the-body experience in order to drive myself back home. I sat straight up the rest of the way and I heard and felt a thud on the wood floor. I look down to see what it was and saw the remote to the television with a piece of white paper taped to it. My slightly aching arms reached for the remote, picking it up off of the floor, and I turn the remote over to read what the note had to say. A little arrow was pointing to the power button on the remote and underneath it read “Turn on T.V”. I did as I was told and the Goodmann News Channel popped up on the screen, the breaking news segment shot across the screen for a moment before the news anchor began.

“Jeff the Killer has struck again, killing 25-year-old Sven Halloway at the Goodmann Catholic Church at 3:45 this afternoon. Halloway was found impaled on a tree branch on a nearby tree not too far from another crime scene; where the tombstone of the late Kyle Calligy was left in shambles. Investigators have managed to find most of the tombstone fragments, but the fragments with Calligy’s name have yet to be found.”

I froze. My eyes glued to the television, my mouth agape, my hand still holding the remote. Then slowly, my brows furrowed deeply and my gaping mouth closed into a solid grimace of pure hatred. The more the man rambled on and on about the “breaking news” the more my anger took control. My anger was clearly showing when my hand was clutching the remote so tightly to where it was shaking and suddenly, out of blind rage, I threw it at the T.V. Realizing that didn’t do much damage I ripped the stout lamp out of the wall, threw it at the T.V., and watch the sparks fly like fireworks. The sparks were the only source of light, though fleeting, that illuminated the room, revealing the damage I had done onto the T.V. I don’t know what was coming over me. I have never felt this sensation before, it was alien to me. I stood there, silently taking deep breaths and taking in what had just happened. Am I loosing it? Have I lost my marbles?

Yes, yes I have lost it! I've lost all sane, rational thought of myself! Everything, poof! Gone! Never to be seen again for the rest of my life. Irrational anger arose in me once again, and with little conscious thought, my blind-rage filled my body and I began to ransack my entire house. Destroying my mother’s china cabinet, my father’s dinner table, and any gifts I had ever received from anybody in my life; ripping up curtains, paintings and shattering any mirror I saw. My anger was the puppeteer, and I let it control me like a puppet.

I arrive at my bedroom last and instead of destroying everything in my room, I just stood in the doorway, letting my brain go from “destroy everything in sight” mode, to “find anything that’s useful.” Slowly I walk to my closet and claw through the miscellaneous crap that had accumulated over the years, from clothes to boxes of items I never unpacked. A box from the top shelf toppled over, landed on me, then rolled off of my back, and landed on the floor. The box wasn’t heavy at all when it landed on me, yet made no noise whatsoever. Leaning down in front of the box, I open it up to discover a mask staring back at me with one of the eye holes cut out with jagged edges, and cracks all down the side, like it was glued back together. The other eye hole was completely black, with bright pink cheeks smeared with black paint running down from the soulless, fabric covered eye. I remember making this when I was young teenager, the mask creeped me out a lot back then but now… it doesn’t.

I don on the doll like mask and the weight of the mask changed me somehow. I can’t quite describe how, but it just did, like I was someone else. Someone who had power and could do anything and get away with it; wanting to see if it did change me, I took it off and suddenly I was my weak human self. I put the mask back on once again, regaining my new found power and my new identity. I am no longer the servile, inquisitive reporter I once was. I looked about the room and spotted a black case on the floor in my closet, I knew what was inside of it – two handguns with ammo inside. One of my old neighbors gave it to me for protection, and was kind enough to teach me how to use them “in case of an emergency.” I hadn’t used them since that old fart gave them to me, and man, was I glad that I still remember that I had them… and knew how to use them. I realized I’m still in my funeral garb when I saw myself in the mirror I hadn’t destroyed. I need a new look, this outfit does not suit the new me! Tearing each piece of clothing off and tossing it to the floor, I violently rummage my drawers for new clothes. Patterns and prints and designs? No! Bright, flashy colors that say look at me? To hell with those! Aha, perfect! Dark navy blue and shadow black.

Slipping into my new attire of shadow black skinny jeans, a dark navy blue tank top, a long sleeved button up black sweater and worn out black boots, I see that my whole persona has completely transformed into someone different - A dark, insane, yet intelligent, human being capable of destruction, where memories of the former self are all but faint glimmers of the past. But there’s a problem with this transformation, what am I going to do? I have nothing planned. Staring into the intact mirror, I thought about what I should do first. My ears picked up a miniscule sound of something hitting the window. I thought nothing of the sound and assumed it to be a bug of sorts hitting the glass. The sound became more prominent as the sound continued. I stare at the glass door through the mirror to see a figure dash away from sight, and from the looks of it, whoever that was appeared to have long hair. Curious and irked by the culprit’s actions, I storm over to the door, open it aggressively, march outside and sharply call out “Who’s out there?” I scan my backyard like a hawk for any sign of the suspect and heard only the chirps of crickets. Dammit! No such luck. Disappointed to not see anyone, I turn around to go back inside and I spot a piece of notebook paper taped to the door. Is that why whoever was throwing pebbles to get my attention wanted me out here for? Some scrap of paper? I rip off the crumbled notebook paper as I went inside, slamming the door behind me and I plop on my bed; this better not be something stupid. And, of course, it was something stupid.

“Don’t go to sleep, you won’t wake up.”

What kind of bullshit is this and why was it on my door? It’s probably some kid screwing with me judging by the handwriting. The paper meant nothing to me so I crumble it in my hands and threw it across the room near the trashcan. I quickly came down off of my insanity high when I realize I was extremely exhausted. As I was starting to get ready for bed the writing on the paper still puzzled me a bit. Don’t go to sleep? I won’t wake up? If I were to believe anything that was written on that paper, I would surely go insane. But my body’s begging me to rest and deal with it in the morning, I couldn’t argue with that logic. I threw the clothes I had found earlier in a heap and slipped on an old Gorillaz concert T shirt and cuddled under my blankets. Of all people, after all these years, why was I a target for Jeff and that…thing? What in the Hell did they want from me? Why me? My curiosity got the best of me and I pull out my phone to Google what it was. I type in the search bar of what I saw, and Google came up with results that had one reoccurring word – Slenderman. I ignore my body’s signals to go back to sleep, and continue my research on the Slenderman character. Well known for kidnapping people and driving them insane, the images of him look a lot like what I saw in the graveyard. He also has proxies to do his dirty work for him. What are proxies? I’ll look it up later; I can’t ignore my body’s desire to sleep. I set my phone aside on the charger for the night and let sleep take me away, for now.

************

The next day, I roughly organize the destruction I created last night before heading off to work; I would love to clean it some more, but I don’t have time and I’m running late. Before I could enter my little homey, organized office a coworker told me to go to the main meeting room immediately. Upon entering the room, I notice Mrs. Icely, looking more withered than before. The bags under her eyes made them look sunk in, her hair sloppily put up in a bun with strands of hair askew in different directions and some over her sleep deprive, and melancholy face. Something’s been bothering her, I can just tell from the look on her face. Normally, she’s hard to read for most people, but not me. Something’s wrong, terribly wrong that’s causing her to look like this. She motions me to sit down next to her without a word; her condition amplified when I sat down next to her. The poor woman, I never thought she would let herself look like this.

“I’m going on extended leave, Amanda.” She started to say, her voice very weak and croaky from, what I’m assuming, crying, yelling and/or screaming. “I don’t know what has been happening in the past several days, but what I do know is that I have to get away from it. I wanted to let you know first before I tell everyone else. I have to get away. I have to get away. I have to get away.”

The last time Mrs. Icely had a sudden leave of absence was when her father died, other than that, she never left this building. It was like she practically lived in the news station. She continued.

“As much as I would like to have you take my place, I can’t.” She paused. “So in my place, Ms. Crowley will be filling my shoes until I get back. She should be here in a few minutes.” I couldn’t get the last part, but I thought I heard her whisper “whenever that’ll be.”

Silence filled the room for several stagnant moments. Something is definitely bugging Mrs. Icely. What’s eating away at her that is causing her to be so quiet?

“Mrs. Icely, what’s wrong?” I inquire.

She didn’t look up at me when I asked her; she just stared at her hands blankly. I assured her that she can tell me anything, like she always had; the worst she could tell me is that she didn’t want to talk about it. She spoke a little after I assured her security in me.

“I’ve been seeing this thing. I don’t know how to describe It. It’s been following me since the funeral and It won’t leave me alone!” she whimpered out.

Was she talking about the very thing I saw at the funeral after everyone left? Yes, I believe she is!

“I believe I know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Icely.”

She looked at me, dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“This thing that you were talking about, was it tall?”

“Y-yes, but Amanda…”

“Did it look like it was wearing a suit?”

“What are you trying to…?”

“Just answer the question, Mrs. Icely, was it wearing a suit?

She paused, thinking. “Yes, I think it was. I mean, it looked like it was wearing one.”

Just as she was finishing her sentence, a new presence entered the room; a familiar, haughty presence that I knew very well, and hated with a deep hateful passion with. Ms. Crowley was in the meeting room, hovering over Mrs. Icely and me.

“Mrs. Icely,” she spoke “You have requested my person here, what is it that you want from me?”

Mrs. Icely cleared her throat, paused to catch her breath and proceeded to tell this witch of a woman why she was here. I hate that bitch.

“Yes, I would like you to take my position and oversee this news station until I return.”

A slight nod towards Mrs. Icely’s direction was her only response. She eyeballs me with those condescending, grey eyes tinted with heartlessness. Her aquiline nose added to her “I’m better than you” look with the way she carries herself, not to mention puts it in everyone’s business. The only reason I know Ms. Crowley was because she took over Mrs. Icely’s position when she left for her father’s funeral. To put it lightly, I did not enjoy working under her reign whatsoever.

Mrs. Icely begins to get up from the chair when she winces in pain, letting a high pitch whimper escape her mouth. I hover near her to make sure she was alright, and asked her what was wrong. She dismisses it as muscle tension. She asks one of us for help to lead to her car and I was about to assist her, then Ms. Crowley steps in and takes over, sternly looking at me.

“Shouldn’t you be working, Ms. Haalz?” was all Ms. Crowley said to me before escorting my boss out of the meeting room.

After that meeting, the next few weeks were nothing but pure hell. I'm use to being under stress and handling multiple projects at a time, but I do have a limit. Alas, Ms. Crowley doesn't know that limit and proceeds to bury me in work. Most of it having me do work that other co workers should be doing. Sleepless nights of working on editing articles and stories don't help with the hallucinations I began to have. I swear, I keep seeing the figure I saw at the cemetery out of the corner of my eye, or feel paranoid that it’s close by, and whenever it is, I feel sick to the very pit of my stomach, headaches drill into my skull out of freaking nowhere, and sudden weakness and profuse coughing occur. At one point, my nose started bleeding and I didn’t notice it until a coworker pointed it out to me. By the time they pointed out my nose bleed, blood stained my shirt heavily. Not only that, Jeff had made some guest appearances in my life as well, for I hear his low pitched cackle when I’m alone or see a flash of white capture my attention. I’m not sure if all of this is in my head, real, or a mixture or torturous hallucinations and psychological insanity. This has to be in my head. It’s all in my head…it’s all in my head… it’s all in my

“Mrs. Haalz,” Ms. Crowley called “In my office now, please.” My God, what does this old crone want now!?

I was just finishing up editing an article when she calmly called me up on the office phone. Standing up was a challenge these days, for my body was deprived of rest and sitting in one position doesn't help. I was tired, I was irritated with every little thing that went wrong, and I lashed my tongue at people who were trying to be nice and helpful. This is not me, it’s simply not! What in the hell is wrong with me? I get that I’m a cranky bitch when I don’t get my Z’s and my cup of coffee, but even if I do, I’m still rearing my ugly head at people and pushing them away with my sharp tongue and demeanor. What’s happening to me? Who is this person that I’m turning into? Am I giving into my dark persona that I first encountered with myself many nights ago?

I sit down in Mrs. Icely’s office, with a pair of steel gray eyes eyeballing me down a few moments. I’m sure she can tell that I’m tired and agitated. I’m just waiting for her to say something; I couldn’t give a rat’s ass as to what it is, so long as she stops staring down at me.

“I have gotten complaints from coworkers of your egregious behavior since I’ve arrived.” Ms. Crowley stated in her apathetic, cool voice. “Not only that, I also took note of your work as well, it’s rather... inconsistent.”

I furrowed my brows at her in confusion. How is my work inconsistent? I take great pride in my work, working to the marrow of my bones regardless of how I’m feeling to try and please this old bat and to have her call my work inconsistent? This is bullshit!

She took note of my disbelief, but moved forward with the conversation by finishing off with “I’m afraid I have to let you go Ms. Haalz.”

I froze. What? Let me go? Who the hell does this crone think she is? She has no right to say that to me, or to anyone. Mrs. Icely has the say so, not this bitch!

“In case you're wondering, yes, I do have the right to fire who I want now. Mrs. Icely recently emailed me stating that she has resigned from the position due to… personal wellness issues. You may go now, Ms. Haalz.”

I didn’t want to move, but I also did not want to be around this witch, I pushed myself out of the seat and made my way towards the door when she called me by my first name. That’s new she never calls me by my first name ever since I met her.

“Amanda, this was never your fault.”

Of all the things she could have told me, she tells me this was never my fault. Why on earth would she say something like that? But rather than ponder about the quote in Ms. Crowley’s presence, I left her office without another word, pushing it into the back of my head…for now.

The next hour or two was all a muddy blur of scouring the building for boxes, packing my items, files, office supplies and other miscellaneous crap and fitting them into the trunk of my car in a Tetris like fashion. My co-workers look at me in curiosity and confusion as I bee-lined back and forth from my desk, to my car, and back again. Almost everyone who saw me stripping my office of its contents didn’t bother asking me what I was doing, but what happened to cause this. I would tell them I got laid off and they would ask why, and all I could say to them was that ‘it was never my fault’ and continue packing. I’m sure they didn’t understand what I meant by that, but then again, I didn’t understand either.

I'm surprised I didn’t crash the car on my way home after leaving the office, with all the extreme emotions I was conjuring up out of nowhere; anger, disappointment, and incompetence. You know that feeling where you say you’re going to kill so and so because you’re royally pissed at them? But you never do it because you’re subconscious goes “Whoa, calm down there tiger. It’s not worth killing someone over such and such.” Yeah about that, the little voice in my head wasn't telling me to ‘calm down’ or anything like that. In fact, I don’t think it was even there and working like it should be. Ah, like I give a fuck now, at least I can enjoy killing Ms. Cowley in different ways in my head over and over. The more I thought about it, the more sadistic they became. It went from punching her and shooting her to… I don’t even want to say it, mutilating her beyond recognition in a torturous manner.

I finally pull into the driveway of my home in one piece. I shut the car off, but instead of getting out and unloading my things, I just sat there staring at the ford logo in the center of the steering wheel. I was absent minded, I felt like I was flip flopping between my macabre fantasies of murder and my now pointless reality. I was beginning to feel like I was nothing, but then something went ‘click.’ My body became a meat puppet once again, but this time, I didn’t try to take back control; I just went with the flow. I got out of the car, left my possessions behind and went inside my home that I decimated the night before; shit, I can’t believe I did all of this. Eh, doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I need to have somewhere to hide out after I kill Ms. Crowley.

From what I remember, there was this little cottage I found out in the woods somewhere behind my house. Hopefully it’s still there and in good enough condition to live in. While I was packing some supplies to take with me to the cottage, the memory of where the cottage was in the woods wasn’t coming to me. I’m sure I’ll find it, the place hasn’t been lived in for a while; it shouldn’t be too hard to find. I went out through my backyard and into the forest, the trees swallowing my petite body whole in its foggy curtain. It’s starting to come back to me now; the dirt path is helped me jump start my memory of the location of the crumbling cottage. The scenery, it’s peaceful to me; why in the world did I find this scenery so creepy? How could I think of such a thought as that? Foggy woods aren’t creepy. Ahhhh, there it is! It’s still there, the cottage; my new home.

The cottage wasn’t in too bad of shape, despite being abused by time and the elements. The floorboards were creaky as I went inside the house, it smelled of rotted wood and of the woods themselves. And yet, through the clutter that was scattered about the place, it felt clean. Perfect! I turned on the faucet to find that the water worked just fine, I conducted similar tests in the bathroom as well; sure enough, everything works. This whole place is perfect for me. I stock the shelves with food and put away the necessities I brought with me, mask and all. I changed into clothes that would be a part of the new me, a new entity. The black skinny jeans, the dark blue tank top and black button up sweater and black boots that have been lovingly worn down with time and use. The mask was the only thing to complete everything, however, I was hesitant to put it on; I started to chicken out. Maybe what I’m doing isn’t such a great idea. Suddenly, without so much as a warning signal, She spoke.

“Oh come on, honey put it on. You remember how different you turned out to be. How powerful you felt after putting it on. You were a different person, a person that can do anything she wanted. Go on, put it on. Do it. Do it, Amanda. You won’t regret it.”

And just like that, she left, yet, her presence lingered. I could feel her pressuring me to slip on the mask with every second passing. She grew impatient and exclaimed loudly in my head “DO IT NOW!” And like a child being scared by their parent into doing something, I slip the mask on and instantly, the same feelings of power came to me once again. Ooh how splendid, it’s already dark outside! Time to come out and play… Ms. Crowley.

I load both of my guns up with ammo, hid my guns under my jacket, and went out into the black forest, with a glint of determination in my eye and a soft smirk on my face. If I remember correctly, Ms. Crowley still lives in the same petite house that’s at the end of Bradben Avenue. Bradben’s a half hour walk from my former home, but from the cottage and the detour I took, it shaved off about ten minutes of walking. Twenty minutes gives me plenty of time to contemplate how I’m going to take down Ms. Crowley. Should I just kick the door down and shoot her directly in the head? Nah, too direct, I need to be subtle about this. What I need to do is slip inside her house somehow, find her, shoot her, and runoff. Yeah, I think that’ll do just fine. Let’s just hope that things don’t go awry. And at least there are no witnesses in the woods to report my ass to the police. And every so often, the silence of the night would be broken by the sharp cawing of ravens in the distance, yet, their cries continued and became more frequent as I neared her house. If those noisy little bastards would shut their traps and be quiet that would be nice! Ahhhh, there’s her house… hopefully she’s home and up for a surprise visit from me.

Mrs. Crowley’s home finally shows itself, which barely stood out from the pitch darkness. The ravens finally ceased their calls once I came across the house, which was perplexing to me at first but I was thankful that they finally stopped. I mentally went over my plan as I cautiously trekked my way towards the place, being wary of my surroundings and readying myself for what could go wrong. The lights in the house quickly flicked on, forcing me to stop in my tracks and look up at the second story window to see Ms. Crowley’s shadow stroll across the window. What surprised me a bit was after the shadow slipped from the window, the lights went out. Did she notice me standing out here on her property? I don’t think she noticed me at all seeing how she didn’t move the curtain aside, and also taking into consideration that it’s dark as pitch out here. Fuck it, she didn’t see me, I came here to kill Ms. Crowley not to stand in her yard like an idiot.

Sneaking into the house through the back door was way too easy. Why would anyone leave their back door open like that? I slowly creep my way through the kitchen in almost complete darkness, a bit thankful that I hadn’t stumbled over something thanks to the two nightlights that were lit. Now that I’m in the house, should I go to her upstairs or let her come to me in the living room? If I go up the stairs, the floorboards could creek, giving me away, if I wait for her in the living room, who knows how long it’ll be before she comes down. Unexpectedly, a flick of a light sounded behind me, and light flooded the second floor and spilled halfway into the living room. I whip around to see Ms. Crowley standing at the top of the staircase, looking down at me as though she expected me to come to her place. This is my chance!

“Move and I’ll shoot.” I warn her, pointing my gun at her with an itchy trigger finger. “I mean it.”

Unmoving in posture and facial expression Ms. Crowley stood, staring at me and the gun. Why didn’t she move when I aimed my gun at her? Isn’t she scared at all?

“Hello, Ms. Haalz” she greeted me coolly. I furrowed my brows at her, confused and annoyed. How does she even know it’s me?! What is she, some sort of psychic? She proceeds to take her first steps down the stairs, completely disregarding my warning from earlier. I shot a round into her head, halting her in her tracks as she collapsed on the stairs. The sound radiated throughout the house, and between us stood intense silence afterward. Finally, the bitch is dead. I began to make my way out of the house when I hear her get up from the creaky staircase. I turn around in disbelief to see her standing there, rubbing the side of her head. Why isn’t there blood coming from her wound? More importantly, why isn’t she dead!?

“Ouch…” was all Ms. Crowley groaned. “You really shouldn’t waste your rounds on warning shots, Ms. Haalz” She calmly stated, and continue to walk down the stairs clumsily at first but regained her composure. There’s something about her that’s restraining me from firing another shot into her head. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it. It’s like she has me mentally pinned down by invisible chains. I thought I heard a small, metallic ‘tink’ when she reached the bottom of the stairs while inviting me to take a seat in the living room. What was that? What did she drop? She took notice of my curiosity at the noise and advised me not to worry about it, and again, invited me to sit down as she took her seat by a window. I didn’t move an inch after she spoke, still dumbfounded that she’s still alive after the head shot. I felt my body involuntarily walk forward, however, I felt like it wasn’t me that was moving. My brain said no to her request, but my body said yes. Something was making me walk towards the chair in the living room across from Ms. Crowley. I sat down in front of her with a sigh, and looked at her waiting for her to say something.

“You’re not the first to try and kill me, you know” She began. “In fact, I would highly advise you not to. I can prove to be valuable to you.” Ms. Crowley said with a small smirk curling up in the corner of her mouth.

I sat there saying nothing to her. Why does she think that she’s valuable? What makes her say so? And why is she not dead?!

“How come you still look confused?” She inquired of me.

“Why aren’t you dead?” I started off. “And what makes you ‘valuable’ to me?”

An amused smirk curled up in the corner of her mouth, letting loose a soft chortle as if to say to me ‘you amuse me.’

“Remember when I told you that this was never you’re fault?” she rhetorically asked me, still smiling. Of course I do, but I still don’t understand why you said that to me. Better yet, answer my question before I make you answer it.

Ms. Crowley ignored my question and continued. “Ever since I first met you, I knew. I knew you had a lot of potential. You have passion, persistence, self-discipline. Your drive to get things done and done right the first time is imperative to you. And that’s the kind of person I want to work with; especially in the field that I work in. Fortunately for you, Amanda, there is a job opening made just for you.” Ms. Crowley pushes herself from her seat and begins to walk around the room, like a vulture circling in the sky over an animal, waiting for it to die.

“Here’s my offer, Amanda.” She said, standing behind my right shoulder looming over me. My body flinching when she gently placed her hands on my shoulders with a soft grip. “How would you like to be a proxy for me? Just like Mrs. Icely was.”

I turn my head slightly in her direction, looking at her through my fabric covered eye. Proxy; I saw the word pop up several times when I was researching the Slenderman. She took my silence as confusion, containing laughter by closing her eyes and hiding her insulting smile.

“In case you didn’t know, a proxy is someone who does all of the dirty work for the one that they work for.” Ms. Crowley explained, drifting from her spot behind me. “Mrs. Icely was one of the best proxies of her time, and I’m sure that this name will ring a bell with you.” She paused, giving me an impish look. “Silence.”

I have heard of Silence before, in fact, I read all of the articles on her. I had no idea that was Mrs. Icely. Mrs. Crowley let out a cackle of delight, composing herself before beginning again. “What do you do when you get a flat tire, Amanda?” She asked me. “That requires an answer.” She passively demanded after a moment of silence.

“You replace it.” I sigh.

“You replace it.” Ms. Crowley repeated. “And much like a flat tire on a car, Mrs. Icely must be replaced with hate; however, I can’t toss her out into the real world like a tire, oh no. If she shares with the world what she knows about the proxy business, it will all but destroy her. That is, if she doesn’t destroy herself first.” She grimly stated. “Someone has to take her place, someone extremely close to her.”

“What does she mean by ‘destroy’ herself?” I thought, furrowing my brows at her with a puzzled look in my eye. Crowley stared right back at me with a “you-know-what-I-mean.” Look. She unlocked her gaze from mine to look out the window. I look out the same window she was looking out and everything was still. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised that the police haven’t showed up at the house by now. I look at the grandfather clock adjacent to her and saw the pendulum bob wasn’t moving and the clock hands were stuck at 12:42. Was the thing broken?

My thoughts were interrupted when she abruptly announced coldly, narrowing her gaze on me “You must kill Mrs. Icely, Ms. Haalz.”

I shot up from my seat, frozen in place, wide eyed with disbelief. What? Why should it be me that has to kill her? I have no reason to do something like that to someone I care for. Without much control, almost involuntary, I utter “Are...are you fucking kidding…”

“No” She firmly stated. “I’m not. In fact, you are the perfect choice for two reasons. One: you are the closest to her and two:” She paused, locking her steel grey eyes onto mine. I can see her fighting the urge to let loose that damn smile, but lost.

“You have already lost your mind.” She declared with such sweetness it sickened me to even hear it. It was worse than hearing nails slowly clawing along a chalkboard.

I couldn’t deny the two reasons, I knew they were true. But I still refuse to kill Mrs. Icely. Then She took over and unadulterated rage began flooding my body, my trigger finger was itching severely. And in that moment – I snapped.

Without a second thought, I pulled out my gun and fired my second shot at her, and simultaneously, as if intentional, the lights went off as the sound of the fired bullet ran throughout the house. For a split second the lights threw me off, until my anger took hold of the reigns, firing another shot into the abyss at the slightest noise. Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow swiftly sprinted across the window, and I let loose another round, this time on point. Sheer euphoria rushed through me as I hear the heavy thud of a body, clumsily collapsing to the hardwood floor, sending vibrations to the bottom of my feet. Finally, she’s dead! Ms. Crowley is dead!

I stood there in the dark, glowing with pride and feeling accomplished. I did it, she’s finally gone. Gone for good! My shoulders twitched as a giggle began forming in me, growing stronger and found its way out of my mouth. My chuckling went away as soon as it came, with curiosity quickly taking over. I wonder what kind of contorted position she’s splayed out. Is she lying on her back or flat on her face? Could she be twisted up like a pretzel or in a spread eagle position? Hahahaaa! That would be hilarious to see her like that. I slowly saunter over to the location where Crowley is, and as I near her body a tiny thought in the back of my head kept nagging me. It manifested itself out of nowhere but this thought, this assumption, was enough to stop me in front of the window Ms. Crowley stared out of earlier. I’m not too worried about someone seeing me because it’s as black as pitch outside as well as inside the house. I permit the thought to speak to me. “What if this isn’t Ms. Crowley?”

A cawing raven from outside shattered the silence in the room. I look out the window to see a pompous raven perched on the window sill outside, staring at me with its beady black eyes. A thin, white line ran across its neck stood out from the black feathers. For some reason or another, it reminded me of the ribbon thin scar on her neck through the white lace scarf she always wears. The raven tapped its thick beak on the window, cawed at me three times, and then flew away. That was weird.

The house lights illuminated the living room once more, the subtle buzz of electricity wavering through the air. I look down to see Ms. Crowley’s cold, dead body and… that’s not Crowley. Oh God, it’s Mrs. – Mrs. Icely! No, I’m certain I killed Crowley, not my boss! I lifted my mask from my face at the sight of the now deceased Ms. Icely sent me away into a state of body stiffening incredulity. The reality that I killed my own boss sank into me like quicksand, and my body reenacted what I felt when I was in front of Kyle’s grave. My head felt like it was going to float away from the lack of oxygen, causing my vision to blur. My chest heaved up and down, my lungs desperately trying to get oxygen to my brain and body but couldn’t keep up. Every square inch of my body went cold, goose bumps appearing all over my body, my legs became one with the ground, and gravity held my rigid body with taught chains.

“Why?” I squeak out of my choked up throat, feeling lava hot tears roll down my cheeks “Why her?”

The feelings flew away as fast as they arrived, and in my head I can hear a disembodied voice try to speak to me. The voice was clear as day – it sounded like Ms. Crowley. “You have two minutes to get away. They’re coming.”

What does she mean by ‘they’? My question answered itself when the shrill sirens rang out through the night. I look back at the grandfather clock, now happily ticking away the seconds, and the time was now 1:30. I can’t focus on my confusion over the clock now I have to get out of her now! I took in one last look at not only my boss, but dear friend, with remorse. All I could choke out to her were three, little, unjustifiable words: “I’m so sorry.” My senses switched to flight mode as I pulled down my mask over my face and She took over. I made my dashing escape through the back door I used to enter the house, speedily sprinting my way through the maze of trees in a mad sprint. The wailing of sirens just seconds behind me, with red and blue lights alternating flashes in the black of night.

“I hope I remember how to get back to my old home” I thought. “I still need to grab extra ammo and a spare weapon.”

I round the corner of the trail I took earlier, my legs tirelessly propelling my body down the dirt path. My legs and lungs are burning from fleeing and nag at me to rest them. I can’t stop now, I’m lucky I’m one step ahead of the cops and I see the back of my house peeking through the trees.

I burst through the back door, and I rummage through my room looking for the case the guns came in. I look under my bed, ravage my drawers and the case didn’t show itself to me. Why can’t I find that fucking case?! Where did I put the damn thing? Police sirens roam up and down the street my house is on, I can hear them. Shit! Shit! Shit! Without much thought I run to the garage, eyeball the container of gasoline, and a light bulb lit up in my head. Perfect! I snatch the hefty gas can from its dusty home and poured the contents all over the garage, leaving a trail that lead into the front hallway, living room and kitchen. Then a thought struck me like lightning; what the hell am I going to light the gas with? Alternating colors of red and blue flashing in front of my house and the pounding fist of an officer rattles my front door, commanding me to open it. I pull out a random drawer in my kitchen lo and behold; there is a pack of matches lying in the drawer. I grab it, shake it, and hear several matches sliding inside. These will do nicely!

I hastily light a match with a quaking hand, walk into the hallway, and toss it in front of me. Oooh man, things got hot really quick. Fire rose up from the gas covered ground, spreading itself across the front living room, kitchen, front hallway, and garage. My now former home is now engulfed in gas fueled flames, the air polluted with nauseous, gas scented smoke. The police kick the door down only to have the hellish flames welcome them into the inferno. Now that the cops are distracted by the fire, I douse the hallway and my bedroom with the caustic liquid, with fire following close by like a lost puppy. I throw the empty plastic container into the fire and bust out of my burning home through the back door to make my escape. Several officers shout “freeze!” at me as I continue running towards the forest again. Several Gunshot blasts were fired at me, one of the blasts striking my left calf muscle. I collapse onto the grass shrieking in pain as my vision blurs. And nausea floods my stomach as I begin to cough violently, and body curls and locks up in the fetal position.

An all too familiar sound fills my ears with the feedback noise I heard at the graveyard, drowning out the roar of police officers. I manage to open one eye and turn my head to the source of the feedback noise to see Him; the tall, slim, faceless, suit-wearing Slenderman standing there right in front of me, with the ferocious fire blazing behind; making his figure all the more frightening. With long, black appendages flailing about from behind his back and coiling themselves around police officers and impaling them on the tree tops. I continue to stare at the Slenderman and I felt something rather peculiar. My vision cleared, my body recoiled from its tense fetal position, and the flood of nausea and profuse coughing ceased. The longer I stare at it, the calmer I felt. Why was I feeling this? By now I would be in the fetal position on the ground, coughing my lungs out, unable to move, and ready to pass out.

Silence took over after all the painful cries ceased. His appendages shrinking away behind his back: one, two, three, four, five, six in all, his other two lowered his feet to the ground and slipped behind his back with the others. Slenderman stood there with his head looking in my direction, presumably at me. The air crackled with burning wood, minuscule embers flew all around him like flurries of snow, with dense black smoke billowing upwards from the house. I kept telling by body to get up and run away, but my inner voice fell on deaf nerves. There’s something about this entity that’s keeping me locked in place. And, I don’t know why I thought this, but I felt like he wanted to be my friend. Why did this thing want to be my friend? I don’t want to be ‘friends’ with that thing! Not after all the shit he’s done to me.

The sound of sticks snapping behind me broke the silence between me and this Slenderman. It doesn't sound like an animal lumbering around; it’s more like a pair of feet. Crunch, crunch, snap. As soon as I turned my head towards the sound, it stopped as if it saw me. And out of nowhere, a gush of wind surged over me, with a piece of paper plastering itself to my face.

“What the hell is this?!” I grumble to myself as I tore the scrap paper off of my face, reading the scribbled down words.

“Always watches, no eyes.” It said, and in the middle of a page was a circle with two exes where the ‘eyes’ should be. I look up from the paper and Slenderman wasn’t there. Where'd he go? Did he teleport or something? Could he have something to do with this paper? Once again, I hear the crunching of leaves from behind me, but instead of coming closer to me the footsteps got farther away, disappearing into the dismal woods. Walking back to the cottage was going to be a challenge, especially if my legs are as wobbly as a newborn dear’s; not to mention the pain that shot through my body every time I put the tiniest amount of pressure on my left leg. I don’t have any other choice but to drag my wounded leg as I make my way back to the cottage.

My legs are in no mood for standing, let alone walking. It took me several failed attempts to stand stably on my right foot for more than five seconds without using the tree as a crutch. My right leg began warming up, gradually getting used to standing and walking again; my left leg, however, throbbed with pain, reminding me about the gunshot one I suffered from earlier. After my body got used to sending signals to my legs saying “Right leg, take a step forward and stay there and left leg, drag forward as light as possible,” My mind was on the note from earlier. It’s no mystery that the note was referring to Slenderman.

Randomly, whispers fill the hair as if someone was attempting to talk to me and one voice stuck out from the rest of the faint whispers. I hear the recognizable voice of Ms. Crowley speak to me. Good God, what does this crone want from me now?

“I suggest you start thinking about what to call yourself. You can’t go by your real name anymore. You need a new name for the new you, Amanda.”

And just like that, her voice blows away into the cool night air like a candle being blown out. I start to feel like I’m not where I was before, and look at my surroundings. I realize that I’m not on the dirt path anymore, but I’m standing before the cottage. I see an orange glow through the cloudy window, the smell of burning firewood tainting the air. I know that I didn’t light the fireplace in the cottage, so who the hell did it? If they think that the cottage is their home, they are wrong. They are dead wrong.

I limp my way to the front door of the rotting cottage, swing the door open with a loud bang, and glare at the individual sitting in the chair in front of the fire. A pair of slim legs with a small heels rest on the coffee table in front of them, and I went on the assumption it’s a girl that snuck in here. She didn’t flinch at the sound of the door opening; fine if they wanna be like that, I’ll watch her head-butt this bullet that I’m gonna fire into her skull.

“Shut the door already,” her smooth, and annoyed, voice spoke. “You’re letting all the heat out.”

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” I viciously snap at her as I lumber over to her. She merely sighed at my comment. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I am, Amanda. I’m the one who attached that note to your door several weeks ago. You do remember what the note said, right?”

I remember the note I found several weeks ago when I had my first psycho breakdown. I dig around trying to remember what the note said, and came up with nothing. The girl took note of my puzzled silence and hinted to me “Let me help you remember. Don’t go to sleep, you won't wake up. Who do you know says that catchphrase?”

Don’t go to sleep, you won’t wake up. Okay, things are starting to clear up a bit for me. But who says that? The little catchphrase repeats itself in my head over and over like a broken record, and then it clicks. I realize who says that and when I do, I see the girl looking at me with her soulless black eyes, and her long, black, wavy hair framing her neon white face. I remember her alright, but why is she here?

“Nice you finally meet you, Amanda” She says to me. “I’m Jane the Killer.”

Description
A throbbing headache, a sick stomach, and a pair of foggy eyes greet me when I surface to consciousness. The soft leather caressing my cheek and head on an incline, with the rest of my body lying flat. The fog in my eyes dissipates as I looked around the room and I recognize a painting of a fruit bowl and the lamp at my feet. Curiously, I look at the time on the cable box to see that I woke up at 4:24 P.M. My senses finally turning on as began to realize I was on my couch, in my living room, still in my garb from the funeral service. How did I end up here? Was my car still at the church? I remember nothing in between my encounter with that ‘thing’ and Jeff and when I woke up.

I rose up from the couch, feeling every muscle complain about the aches they felt from being in one position for too long. I look out the window behind the couch and sure enough, my little silver car was in the driveway in the dim afternoon. I must have had some sort of out-of-the-body experience in order to drive myself back home. I sat straight up the rest of the way and I heard and felt a thud on the wood floor. I look down to see what it was and saw the remote to the television with a piece of white paper taped to it. My slightly aching arms reached for the remote, picking it up off of the floor, and I turn the remote over to read what the note had to say. A little arrow was pointing to the power button on the remote and underneath it read “Turn on T.V”. I did as I was told and the Goodmann News Channel popped up on the screen, the breaking news segment shot across the screen for a moment before the news anchor began.

“Jeff the Killer has struck again, killing 25-year-old Sven Halloway at the Goodmann Catholic Church at 3:45 this afternoon. Halloway was found impaled on a tree branch on a nearby tree not too far from another crime scene; where the tombstone of the late Kyle Calligy was left in shambles. Investigators have managed to find most of the tombstone fragments, but the fragments with Calligy’s name have yet to be found.”

I froze. My eyes glued to the television, my mouth agape, my hand still holding the remote. Then slowly, my brows furrowed deeply and my gaping mouth closed into a solid grimace of pure hatred. The more the man rambled on and on about the “breaking news” the more my anger took control. My anger was clearly showing when my hand was clutching the remote so tightly to where it was shaking and suddenly, out of blind rage, I threw it at the T.V. Realizing that didn’t do much damage I ripped the stout lamp out of the wall, threw it at the T.V., and watch the sparks fly like fireworks. The sparks were the only source of light, though fleeting, that illuminated the room, revealing the damage I had done onto the T.V. I don’t know what was coming over me. I have never felt this sensation before, it was alien to me. I stood there, silently taking deep breaths and taking in what had just happened. Am I loosing it? Have I lost my marbles?

Yes, yes I have lost it! I've lost all sane, rational thought of myself! Everything, poof! Gone! Never to be seen again for the rest of my life. Irrational anger arose in me once again, and with little conscious thought, my blind-rage filled my body and I began to ransack my entire house. Destroying my mother’s china cabinet, my father’s dinner table, and any gifts I had ever received from anybody in my life; ripping up curtains, paintings and shattering any mirror I saw. My anger was the puppeteer, and I let it control me like a puppet.

I arrive at my bedroom last and instead of destroying everything in my room, I just stood in the doorway, letting my brain go from “destroy everything in sight” mode, to “find anything that’s useful.” Slowly I walk to my closet and claw through the miscellaneous crap that had accumulated over the years, from clothes to boxes of items I never unpacked. A box from the top shelf toppled over, landed on me, then rolled off of my back, and landed on the floor. The box wasn’t heavy at all when it landed on me, yet made no noise whatsoever. Leaning down in front of the box, I open it up to discover a mask staring back at me with one of the eye holes cut out with jagged edges, and cracks all down the side, like it was glued back together. The other eye hole was completely black, with bright pink cheeks smeared with black paint running down from the soulless, fabric covered eye. I remember making this when I was young teenager, the mask creeped me out a lot back then but now… it doesn’t.

I don on the doll like mask and the weight of the mask changed me somehow. I can’t quite describe how, but it just did, like I was someone else. Someone who had power and could do anything and get away with it; wanting to see if it did change me, I took it off and suddenly I was my weak human self. I put the mask back on once again, regaining my new found power and my new identity. I am no longer the servile, inquisitive reporter I once was. I looked about the room and spotted a black case on the floor in my closet, I knew what was inside of it – two handguns with ammo inside. One of my old neighbors gave it to me for protection, and was kind enough to teach me how to use them “in case of an emergency.” I hadn’t used them since that old fart gave them to me, and man, was I glad that I still remember that I had them… and knew how to use them. I realized I’m still in my funeral garb when I saw myself in the mirror I hadn’t destroyed. I need a new look, this outfit does not suit the new me! Tearing each piece of clothing off and tossing it to the floor, I violently rummage my drawers for new clothes. Patterns and prints and designs? No! Bright, flashy colors that say look at me? To hell with those! Aha, perfect! Dark navy blue and shadow black.

Slipping into my new attire of shadow black skinny jeans, a dark navy blue tank top, a long sleeved button up black sweater and worn out black boots, I see that my whole persona has completely transformed into someone different - A dark, insane, yet intelligent, human being capable of destruction, where memories of the former self are all but faint glimmers of the past. But there’s a problem with this transformation, what am I going to do? I have nothing planned. Staring into the intact mirror, I thought about what I should do first. My ears picked up a miniscule sound of something hitting the window. I thought nothing of the sound and assumed it to be a bug of sorts hitting the glass. The sound became more prominent as the sound continued. I stare at the glass door through the mirror to see a figure dash away from sight, and from the looks of it, whoever that was appeared to have long hair. Curious and irked by the culprit’s actions, I storm over to the door, open it aggressively, march outside and sharply call out “Who’s out there?” I scan my backyard like a hawk for any sign of the suspect and heard only the chirps of crickets. Dammit! No such luck. Disappointed to not see anyone, I turn around to go back inside and I spot a piece of notebook paper taped to the door. Is that why whoever was throwing pebbles to get my attention wanted me out here for? Some scrap of paper? I rip off the crumbled notebook paper as I went inside, slamming the door behind me and I plop on my bed; this better not be something stupid. And, of course, it was something stupid.

“Don’t go to sleep, you won’t wake up.”

What kind of bullshit is this and why was it on my door? It’s probably some kid screwing with me judging by the handwriting. The paper meant nothing to me so I crumble it in my hands and threw it across the room near the trashcan. I quickly came down off of my insanity high when I realize I was extremely exhausted. As I was starting to get ready for bed the writing on the paper still puzzled me a bit. Don’t go to sleep? I won’t wake up? If I were to believe anything that was written on that paper, I would surely go insane. But my body’s begging me to rest and deal with it in the morning, I couldn’t argue with that logic. I threw the clothes I had found earlier in a heap and slipped on an old Gorillaz concert T shirt and cuddled under my blankets. Of all people, after all these years, why was I a target for Jeff and that…thing? What in the Hell did they want from me? Why me? My curiosity got the best of me and I pull out my phone to Google what it was. I type in the search bar of what I saw, and Google came up with results that had one reoccurring word – Slenderman. I ignore my body’s signals to go back to sleep, and continue my research on the Slenderman character. Well known for kidnapping people and driving them insane, the images of him look a lot like what I saw in the graveyard. He also has proxies to do his dirty work for him. What are proxies? I’ll look it up later; I can’t ignore my body’s desire to sleep. I set my phone aside on the charger for the night and let sleep take me away, for now.

************

The next day, I roughly organize the destruction I created last night before heading off to work; I would love to clean it some more, but I don’t have time and I’m running late. Before I could enter my little homey, organized office a coworker told me to go to the main meeting room immediately. Upon entering the room, I notice Mrs. Icely, looking more withered than before. The bags under her eyes made them look sunk in, her hair sloppily put up in a bun with strands of hair askew in different directions and some over her sleep deprive, and melancholy face. Something’s been bothering her, I can just tell from the look on her face. Normally, she’s hard to read for most people, but not me. Something’s wrong, terribly wrong that’s causing her to look like this. She motions me to sit down next to her without a word; her condition amplified when I sat down next to her. The poor woman, I never thought she would let herself look like this.

“I’m going on extended leave, Amanda.” She started to say, her voice very weak and croaky from, what I’m assuming, crying, yelling and/or screaming. “I don’t know what has been happening in the past several days, but what I do know is that I have to get away from it. I wanted to let you know first before I tell everyone else. I have to get away. I have to get away. I have to get away.”

The last time Mrs. Icely had a sudden leave of absence was when her father died, other than that, she never left this building. It was like she practically lived in the news station. She continued.

“As much as I would like to have you take my place, I can’t.” She paused. “So in my place, Ms. Crowley will be filling my shoes until I get back. She should be here in a few minutes.” I couldn’t get the last part, but I thought I heard her whisper “whenever that’ll be.”

Silence filled the room for several stagnant moments. Something is definitely bugging Mrs. Icely. What’s eating away at her that is causing her to be so quiet?

“Mrs. Icely, what’s wrong?” I inquire.

She didn’t look up at me when I asked her; she just stared at her hands blankly. I assured her that she can tell me anything, like she always had; the worst she could tell me is that she didn’t want to talk about it. She spoke a little after I assured her security in me.

“I’ve been seeing this thing. I don’t know how to describe It. It’s been following me since the funeral and It won’t leave me alone!” she whimpered out.

Was she talking about the very thing I saw at the funeral after everyone left? Yes, I believe she is!

“I believe I know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Icely.”

She looked at me, dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“This thing that you were talking about, was it tall?”

“Y-yes, but Amanda…”

“Did it look like it was wearing a suit?”

“What are you trying to…?”

“Just answer the question, Mrs. Icely, was it wearing a suit?

She paused, thinking. “Yes, I think it was. I mean, it looked like it was wearing one.”

Just as she was finishing her sentence, a new presence entered the room; a familiar, haughty presence that I knew very well, and hated with a deep hateful passion with. Ms. Crowley was in the meeting room, hovering over Mrs. Icely and me.

“Mrs. Icely,” she spoke “You have requested my person here, what is it that you want from me?”

Mrs. Icely cleared her throat, paused to catch her breath and proceeded to tell this witch of a woman why she was here. I hate that bitch.

“Yes, I would like you to take my position and oversee this news station until I return.”

A slight nod towards Mrs. Icely’s direction was her only response. She eyeballs me with those condescending, grey eyes tinted with heartlessness. Her aquiline nose added to her “I’m better than you” look with the way she carries herself, not to mention puts it in everyone’s business. The only reason I know Ms. Crowley was because she took over Mrs. Icely’s position when she left for her father’s funeral. To put it lightly, I did not enjoy working under her reign whatsoever.

Mrs. Icely begins to get up from the chair when she winces in pain, letting a high pitch whimper escape her mouth. I hover near her to make sure she was alright, and asked her what was wrong. She dismisses it as muscle tension. She asks one of us for help to lead to her car and I was about to assist her, then Ms. Crowley steps in and takes over, sternly looking at me.

“Shouldn’t you be working, Ms. Haalz?” was all Ms. Crowley said to me before escorting my boss out of the meeting room.

After that meeting, the next few weeks were nothing but pure hell. I'm use to being under stress and handling multiple projects at a time, but I do have a limit. Alas, Ms. Crowley doesn't know that limit and proceeds to bury me in work. Most of it having me do work that other co workers should be doing. Sleepless nights of working on editing articles and stories don't help with the hallucinations I began to have. I swear, I keep seeing the figure I saw at the cemetery out of the corner of my eye, or feel paranoid that it’s close by, and whenever it is, I feel sick to the very pit of my stomach, headaches drill into my skull out of freaking nowhere, and sudden weakness and profuse coughing occur. At one point, my nose started bleeding and I didn’t notice it until a coworker pointed it out to me. By the time they pointed out my nose bleed, blood stained my shirt heavily. Not only that, Jeff had made some guest appearances in my life as well, for I hear his low pitched cackle when I’m alone or see a flash of white capture my attention. I’m not sure if all of this is in my head, real, or a mixture or torturous hallucinations and psychological insanity. This has to be in my head. It’s all in my head…it’s all in my head… it’s all in my

“Mrs. Haalz,” Ms. Crowley called “In my office now, please.” My God, what does this old crone want now!?

I was just finishing up editing an article when she calmly called me up on the office phone. Standing up was a challenge these days, for my body was deprived of rest and sitting in one position doesn't help. I was tired, I was irritated with every little thing that went wrong, and I lashed my tongue at people who were trying to be nice and helpful. This is not me, it’s simply not! What in the hell is wrong with me? I get that I’m a cranky bitch when I don’t get my Z’s and my cup of coffee, but even if I do, I’m still rearing my ugly head at people and pushing them away with my sharp tongue and demeanor. What’s happening to me? Who is this person that I’m turning into? Am I giving into my dark persona that I first encountered with myself many nights ago?

I sit down in Mrs. Icely’s office, with a pair of steel gray eyes eyeballing me down a few moments. I’m sure she can tell that I’m tired and agitated. I’m just waiting for her to say something; I couldn’t give a rat’s ass as to what it is, so long as she stops staring down at me.

“I have gotten complaints from coworkers of your egregious behavior since I’ve arrived.” Ms. Crowley stated in her apathetic, cool voice. “Not only that, I also took note of your work as well, it’s rather... inconsistent.”

I furrowed my brows at her in confusion. How is my work inconsistent? I take great pride in my work, working to the marrow of my bones regardless of how I’m feeling to try and please this old bat and to have her call my work inconsistent? This is bullshit!

She took note of my disbelief, but moved forward with the conversation by finishing off with “I’m afraid I have to let you go Ms. Haalz.”

I froze. What? Let me go? Who the hell does this crone think she is? She has no right to say that to me, or to anyone. Mrs. Icely has the say so, not this bitch!

“In case you're wondering, yes, I do have the right to fire who I want now. Mrs. Icely recently emailed me stating that she has resigned from the position due to… personal wellness issues. You may go now, Ms. Haalz.”

I didn’t want to move, but I also did not want to be around this witch, I pushed myself out of the seat and made my way towards the door when she called me by my first name. That’s new she never calls me by my first name ever since I met her.

“Amanda, this was never your fault.”

Of all the things she could have told me, she tells me this was never my fault. Why on earth would she say something like that? But rather than ponder about the quote in Ms. Crowley’s presence, I left her office without another word, pushing it into the back of my head…for now.

The next hour or two was all a muddy blur of scouring the building for boxes, packing my items, files, office supplies and other miscellaneous crap and fitting them into the trunk of my car in a Tetris like fashion. My co-workers look at me in curiosity and confusion as I bee-lined back and forth from my desk, to my car, and back again. Almost everyone who saw me stripping my office of its contents didn’t bother asking me what I was doing, but what happened to cause this. I would tell them I got laid off and they would ask why, and all I could say to them was that ‘it was never my fault’ and continue packing. I’m sure they didn’t understand what I meant by that, but then again, I didn’t understand either.

I'm surprised I didn’t crash the car on my way home after leaving the office, with all the extreme emotions I was conjuring up out of nowhere; anger, disappointment, and incompetence. You know that feeling where you say you’re going to kill so and so because you’re royally pissed at them? But you never do it because you’re subconscious goes “Whoa, calm down there tiger. It’s not worth killing someone over such and such.” Yeah about that, the little voice in my head wasn't telling me to ‘calm down’ or anything like that. In fact, I don’t think it was even there and working like it should be. Ah, like I give a fuck now, at least I can enjoy killing Ms. Cowley in different ways in my head over and over. The more I thought about it, the more sadistic they became. It went from punching her and shooting her to… I don’t even want to say it, mutilating her beyond recognition in a torturous manner.

I finally pull into the driveway of my home in one piece. I shut the car off, but instead of getting out and unloading my things, I just sat there staring at the ford logo in the center of the steering wheel. I was absent minded, I felt like I was flip flopping between my macabre fantasies of murder and my now pointless reality. I was beginning to feel like I was nothing, but then something went ‘click.’ My body became a meat puppet once again, but this time, I didn’t try to take back control; I just went with the flow. I got out of the car, left my possessions behind and went inside my home that I decimated the night before; shit, I can’t believe I did all of this. Eh, doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I need to have somewhere to hide out after I kill Ms. Crowley.

From what I remember, there was this little cottage I found out in the woods somewhere behind my house. Hopefully it’s still there and in good enough condition to live in. While I was packing some supplies to take with me to the cottage, the memory of where the cottage was in the woods wasn’t coming to me. I’m sure I’ll find it, the place hasn’t been lived in for a while; it shouldn’t be too hard to find. I went out through my backyard and into the forest, the trees swallowing my petite body whole in its foggy curtain. It’s starting to come back to me now; the dirt path is helped me jump start my memory of the location of the crumbling cottage. The scenery, it’s peaceful to me; why in the world did I find this scenery so creepy? How could I think of such a thought as that? Foggy woods aren’t creepy. Ahhhh, there it is! It’s still there, the cottage; my new home.

The cottage wasn’t in too bad of shape, despite being abused by time and the elements. The floorboards were creaky as I went inside the house, it smelled of rotted wood and of the woods themselves. And yet, through the clutter that was scattered about the place, it felt clean. Perfect! I turned on the faucet to find that the water worked just fine, I conducted similar tests in the bathroom as well; sure enough, everything works. This whole place is perfect for me. I stock the shelves with food and put away the necessities I brought with me, mask and all. I changed into clothes that would be a part of the new me, a new entity. The black skinny jeans, the dark blue tank top and black button up sweater and black boots that have been lovingly worn down with time and use. The mask was the only thing to complete everything, however, I was hesitant to put it on; I started to chicken out. Maybe what I’m doing isn’t such a great idea. Suddenly, without so much as a warning signal, She spoke.

“Oh come on, honey put it on. You remember how different you turned out to be. How powerful you felt after putting it on. You were a different person, a person that can do anything she wanted. Go on, put it on. Do it. Do it, Amanda. You won’t regret it.”

And just like that, she left, yet, her presence lingered. I could feel her pressuring me to slip on the mask with every second passing. She grew impatient and exclaimed loudly in my head “DO IT NOW!” And like a child being scared by their parent into doing something, I slip the mask on and instantly, the same feelings of power came to me once again. Ooh how splendid, it’s already dark outside! Time to come out and play… Ms. Crowley.

I load both of my guns up with ammo, hid my guns under my jacket, and went out into the black forest, with a glint of determination in my eye and a soft smirk on my face. If I remember correctly, Ms. Crowley still lives in the same petite house that’s at the end of Bradben Avenue. Bradben’s a half hour walk from my former home, but from the cottage and the detour I took, it shaved off about ten minutes of walking. Twenty minutes gives me plenty of time to contemplate how I’m going to take down Ms. Crowley. Should I just kick the door down and shoot her directly in the head? Nah, too direct, I need to be subtle about this. What I need to do is slip inside her house somehow, find her, shoot her, and runoff. Yeah, I think that’ll do just fine. Let’s just hope that things don’t go awry. And at least there are no witnesses in the woods to report my ass to the police. And every so often, the silence of the night would be broken by the sharp cawing of ravens in the distance, yet, their cries continued and became more frequent as I neared her house. If those noisy little bastards would shut their traps and be quiet that would be nice! Ahhhh, there’s her house… hopefully she’s home and up for a surprise visit from me.

Mrs. Crowley’s home finally shows itself, which barely stood out from the pitch darkness. The ravens finally ceased their calls once I came across the house, which was perplexing to me at first but I was thankful that they finally stopped. I mentally went over my plan as I cautiously trekked my way towards the place, being wary of my surroundings and readying myself for what could go wrong. The lights in the house quickly flicked on, forcing me to stop in my tracks and look up at the second story window to see Ms. Crowley’s shadow stroll across the window. What surprised me a bit was after the shadow slipped from the window, the lights went out. Did she notice me standing out here on her property? I don’t think she noticed me at all seeing how she didn’t move the curtain aside, and also taking into consideration that it’s dark as pitch out here. Fuck it, she didn’t see me, I came here to kill Ms. Crowley not to stand in her yard like an idiot.

Sneaking into the house through the back door was way too easy. Why would anyone leave their back door open like that? I slowly creep my way through the kitchen in almost complete darkness, a bit thankful that I hadn’t stumbled over something thanks to the two nightlights that were lit. Now that I’m in the house, should I go to her upstairs or let her come to me in the living room? If I go up the stairs, the floorboards could creek, giving me away, if I wait for her in the living room, who knows how long it’ll be before she comes down. Unexpectedly, a flick of a light sounded behind me, and light flooded the second floor and spilled halfway into the living room. I whip around to see Ms. Crowley standing at the top of the staircase, looking down at me as though she expected me to come to her place. This is my chance!

“Move and I’ll shoot.” I warn her, pointing my gun at her with an itchy trigger finger. “I mean it.”

Unmoving in posture and facial expression Ms. Crowley stood, staring at me and the gun. Why didn’t she move when I aimed my gun at her? Isn’t she scared at all?

“Hello, Ms. Haalz” she greeted me coolly. I furrowed my brows at her, confused and annoyed. How does she even know it’s me?! What is she, some sort of psychic? She proceeds to take her first steps down the stairs, completely disregarding my warning from earlier. I shot a round into her head, halting her in her tracks as she collapsed on the stairs. The sound radiated throughout the house, and between us stood intense silence afterward. Finally, the bitch is dead. I began to make my way out of the house when I hear her get up from the creaky staircase. I turn around in disbelief to see her standing there, rubbing the side of her head. Why isn’t there blood coming from her wound? More importantly, why isn’t she dead!?

“Ouch…” was all Ms. Crowley groaned. “You really shouldn’t waste your rounds on warning shots, Ms. Haalz” She calmly stated, and continue to walk down the stairs clumsily at first but regained her composure. There’s something about her that’s restraining me from firing another shot into her head. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it. It’s like she has me mentally pinned down by invisible chains. I thought I heard a small, metallic ‘tink’ when she reached the bottom of the stairs while inviting me to take a seat in the living room. What was that? What did she drop? She took notice of my curiosity at the noise and advised me not to worry about it, and again, invited me to sit down as she took her seat by a window. I didn’t move an inch after she spoke, still dumbfounded that she’s still alive after the head shot. I felt my body involuntarily walk forward, however, I felt like it wasn’t me that was moving. My brain said no to her request, but my body said yes. Something was making me walk towards the chair in the living room across from Ms. Crowley. I sat down in front of her with a sigh, and looked at her waiting for her to say something.

“You’re not the first to try and kill me, you know” She began. “In fact, I would highly advise you not to. I can prove to be valuable to you.” Ms. Crowley said with a small smirk curling up in the corner of her mouth.

I sat there saying nothing to her. Why does she think that she’s valuable? What makes her say so? And why is she not dead?!

“How come you still look confused?” She inquired of me.

“Why aren’t you dead?” I started off. “And what makes you ‘valuable’ to me?”

An amused smirk curled up in the corner of her mouth, letting loose a soft chortle as if to say to me ‘you amuse me.’

“Remember when I told you that this was never you’re fault?” she rhetorically asked me, still smiling. Of course I do, but I still don’t understand why you said that to me. Better yet, answer my question before I make you answer it.

Ms. Crowley ignored my question and continued. “Ever since I first met you, I knew. I knew you had a lot of potential. You have passion, persistence, self-discipline. Your drive to get things done and done right the first time is imperative to you. And that’s the kind of person I want to work with; especially in the field that I work in. Fortunately for you, Amanda, there is a job opening made just for you.” Ms. Crowley pushes herself from her seat and begins to walk around the room, like a vulture circling in the sky over an animal, waiting for it to die.

“Here’s my offer, Amanda.” She said, standing behind my right shoulder looming over me. My body flinching when she gently placed her hands on my shoulders with a soft grip. “How would you like to be a proxy for me? Just like Mrs. Icely was.”

I turn my head slightly in her direction, looking at her through my fabric covered eye. Proxy; I saw the word pop up several times when I was researching the Slenderman. She took my silence as confusion, containing laughter by closing her eyes and hiding her insulting smile.

“In case you didn’t know, a proxy is someone who does all of the dirty work for the one that they work for.” Ms. Crowley explained, drifting from her spot behind me. “Mrs. Icely was one of the best proxies of her time, and I’m sure that this name will ring a bell with you.” She paused, giving me an impish look. “Silence.”

I have heard of Silence before, in fact, I read all of the articles on her. I had no idea that was Mrs. Icely. Mrs. Crowley let out a cackle of delight, composing herself before beginning again. “What do you do when you get a flat tire, Amanda?” She asked me. “That requires an answer.” She passively demanded after a moment of silence.

“You replace it.” I sigh.

“You replace it.” Ms. Crowley repeated. “And much like a flat tire on a car, Mrs. Icely must be replaced with hate; however, I can’t toss her out into the real world like a tire, oh no. If she shares with the world what she knows about the proxy business, it will all but destroy her. That is, if she doesn’t destroy herself first.” She grimly stated. “Someone has to take her place, someone extremely close to her.”

“What does she mean by ‘destroy’ herself?” I thought, furrowing my brows at her with a puzzled look in my eye. Crowley stared right back at me with a “you-know-what-I-mean.” Look. She unlocked her gaze from mine to look out the window. I look out the same window she was looking out and everything was still. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised that the police haven’t showed up at the house by now. I look at the grandfather clock adjacent to her and saw the pendulum bob wasn’t moving and the clock hands were stuck at 12:42. Was the thing broken?

My thoughts were interrupted when she abruptly announced coldly, narrowing her gaze on me “You must kill Mrs. Icely, Ms. Haalz.”

I shot up from my seat, frozen in place, wide eyed with disbelief. What? Why should it be me that has to kill her? I have no reason to do something like that to someone I care for. Without much control, almost involuntary, I utter “Are...are you fucking kidding…”

“No” She firmly stated. “I’m not. In fact, you are the perfect choice for two reasons. One: you are the closest to her and two:” She paused, locking her steel grey eyes onto mine. I can see her fighting the urge to let loose that damn smile, but lost.

“You have already lost your mind.” She declared with such sweetness it sickened me to even hear it. It was worse than hearing nails slowly clawing along a chalkboard.

I couldn’t deny the two reasons, I knew they were true. But I still refuse to kill Mrs. Icely. Then She took over and unadulterated rage began flooding my body, my trigger finger was itching severely. And in that moment – I snapped.

Without a second thought, I pulled out my gun and fired my second shot at her, and simultaneously, as if intentional, the lights went off as the sound of the fired bullet ran throughout the house. For a split second the lights threw me off, until my anger took hold of the reigns, firing another shot into the abyss at the slightest noise. Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow swiftly sprinted across the window, and I let loose another round, this time on point. Sheer euphoria rushed through me as I hear the heavy thud of a body, clumsily collapsing to the hardwood floor, sending vibrations to the bottom of my feet. Finally, she’s dead! Ms. Crowley is dead!

I stood there in the dark, glowing with pride and feeling accomplished. I did it, she’s finally gone. Gone for good! My shoulders twitched as a giggle began forming in me, growing stronger and found its way out of my mouth. My chuckling went away as soon as it came, with curiosity quickly taking over. I wonder what kind of contorted position she’s splayed out. Is she lying on her back or flat on her face? Could she be twisted up like a pretzel or in a spread eagle position? Hahahaaa! That would be hilarious to see her like that. I slowly saunter over to the location where Crowley is, and as I near her body a tiny thought in the back of my head kept nagging me. It manifested itself out of nowhere but this thought, this assumption, was enough to stop me in front of the window Ms. Crowley stared out of earlier. I’m not too worried about someone seeing me because it’s as black as pitch outside as well as inside the house. I permit the thought to speak to me. “What if this isn’t Ms. Crowley?”

A cawing raven from outside shattered the silence in the room. I look out the window to see a pompous raven perched on the window sill outside, staring at me with its beady black eyes. A thin, white line ran across its neck stood out from the black feathers. For some reason or another, it reminded me of the ribbon thin scar on her neck through the white lace scarf she always wears. The raven tapped its thick beak on the window, cawed at me three times, and then flew away. That was weird.

The house lights illuminated the living room once more, the subtle buzz of electricity wavering through the air. I look down to see Ms. Crowley’s cold, dead body and… that’s not Crowley. Oh God, it’s Mrs. – Mrs. Icely! No, I’m certain I killed Crowley, not my boss! I lifted my mask from my face at the sight of the now deceased Ms. Icely sent me away into a state of body stiffening incredulity. The reality that I killed my own boss sank into me like quicksand, and my body reenacted what I felt when I was in front of Kyle’s grave. My head felt like it was going to float away from the lack of oxygen, causing my vision to blur. My chest heaved up and down, my lungs desperately trying to get oxygen to my brain and body but couldn’t keep up. Every square inch of my body went cold, goose bumps appearing all over my body, my legs became one with the ground, and gravity held my rigid body with taught chains.

“Why?” I squeak out of my choked up throat, feeling lava hot tears roll down my cheeks “Why her?”

The feelings flew away as fast as they arrived, and in my head I can hear a disembodied voice try to speak to me. The voice was clear as day – it sounded like Ms. Crowley. “You have two minutes to get away. They’re coming.”

What does she mean by ‘they’? My question answered itself when the shrill sirens rang out through the night. I look back at the grandfather clock, now happily ticking away the seconds, and the time was now 1:30. I can’t focus on my confusion over the clock now I have to get out of her now! I took in one last look at not only my boss, but dear friend, with remorse. All I could choke out to her were three, little, unjustifiable words: “I’m so sorry.” My senses switched to flight mode as I pulled down my mask over my face and She took over. I made my dashing escape through the back door I used to enter the house, speedily sprinting my way through the maze of trees in a mad sprint. The wailing of sirens just seconds behind me, with red and blue lights alternating flashes in the black of night.

“I hope I remember how to get back to my old home” I thought. “I still need to grab extra ammo and a spare weapon.”

I round the corner of the trail I took earlier, my legs tirelessly propelling my body down the dirt path. My legs and lungs are burning from fleeing and nag at me to rest them. I can’t stop now, I’m lucky I’m one step ahead of the cops and I see the back of my house peeking through the trees.

I burst through the back door, and I rummage through my room looking for the case the guns came in. I look under my bed, ravage my drawers and the case didn’t show itself to me. Why can’t I find that fucking case?! Where did I put the damn thing? Police sirens roam up and down the street my house is on, I can hear them. Shit! Shit! Shit! Without much thought I run to the garage, eyeball the container of gasoline, and a light bulb lit up in my head. Perfect! I snatch the hefty gas can from its dusty home and poured the contents all over the garage, leaving a trail that lead into the front hallway, living room and kitchen. Then a thought struck me like lightning; what the hell am I going to light the gas with? Alternating colors of red and blue flashing in front of my house and the pounding fist of an officer rattles my front door, commanding me to open it. I pull out a random drawer in my kitchen lo and behold; there is a pack of matches lying in the drawer. I grab it, shake it, and hear several matches sliding inside. These will do nicely!

I hastily light a match with a quaking hand, walk into the hallway, and toss it in front of me. Oooh man, things got hot really quick. Fire rose up from the gas covered ground, spreading itself across the front living room, kitchen, front hallway, and garage. My now former home is now engulfed in gas fueled flames, the air polluted with nauseous, gas scented smoke. The police kick the door down only to have the hellish flames welcome them into the inferno. Now that the cops are distracted by the fire, I douse the hallway and my bedroom with the caustic liquid, with fire following close by like a lost puppy. I throw the empty plastic container into the fire and bust out of my burning home through the back door to make my escape. Several officers shout “freeze!” at me as I continue running towards the forest again. Several Gunshot blasts were fired at me, one of the blasts striking my left calf muscle. I collapse onto the grass shrieking in pain as my vision blurs. And nausea floods my stomach as I begin to cough violently, and body curls and locks up in the fetal position.

An all too familiar sound fills my ears with the feedback noise I heard at the graveyard, drowning out the roar of police officers. I manage to open one eye and turn my head to the source of the feedback noise to see Him; the tall, slim, faceless, suit-wearing Slenderman standing there right in front of me, with the ferocious fire blazing behind; making his figure all the more frightening. With long, black appendages flailing about from behind his back and coiling themselves around police officers and impaling them on the tree tops. I continue to stare at the Slenderman and I felt something rather peculiar. My vision cleared, my body recoiled from its tense fetal position, and the flood of nausea and profuse coughing ceased. The longer I stare at it, the calmer I felt. Why was I feeling this? By now I would be in the fetal position on the ground, coughing my lungs out, unable to move, and ready to pass out.

Silence took over after all the painful cries ceased. His appendages shrinking away behind his back: one, two, three, four, five, six in all, his other two lowered his feet to the ground and slipped behind his back with the others. Slenderman stood there with his head looking in my direction, presumably at me. The air crackled with burning wood, minuscule embers flew all around him like flurries of snow, with dense black smoke billowing upwards from the house. I kept telling by body to get up and run away, but my inner voice fell on deaf nerves. There’s something about this entity that’s keeping me locked in place. And, I don’t know why I thought this, but I felt like he wanted to be my friend. Why did this thing want to be my friend? I don’t want to be ‘friends’ with that thing! Not after all the shit he’s done to me.

The sound of sticks snapping behind me broke the silence between me and this Slenderman. It doesn't sound like an animal lumbering around; it’s more like a pair of feet. Crunch, crunch, snap. As soon as I turned my head towards the sound, it stopped as if it saw me. And out of nowhere, a gush of wind surged over me, with a piece of paper plastering itself to my face.

“What the hell is this?!” I grumble to myself as I tore the scrap paper off of my face, reading the scribbled down words.

“Always watches, no eyes.” It said, and in the middle of a page was a circle with two exes where the ‘eyes’ should be. I look up from the paper and Slenderman wasn’t there. Where'd he go? Did he teleport or something? Could he have something to do with this paper? Once again, I hear the crunching of leaves from behind me, but instead of coming closer to me the footsteps got farther away, disappearing into the dismal woods. Walking back to the cottage was going to be a challenge, especially if my legs are as wobbly as a newborn dear’s; not to mention the pain that shot through my body every time I put the tiniest amount of pressure on my left leg. I don’t have any other choice but to drag my wounded leg as I make my way back to the cottage.

My legs are in no mood for standing, let alone walking. It took me several failed attempts to stand stably on my right foot for more than five seconds without using the tree as a crutch. My right leg began warming up, gradually getting used to standing and walking again; my left leg, however, throbbed with pain, reminding me about the gunshot one I suffered from earlier. After my body got used to sending signals to my legs saying “Right leg, take a step forward and stay there and left leg, drag forward as light as possible,” My mind was on the note from earlier. It’s no mystery that the note was referring to Slenderman.

Randomly, whispers fill the hair as if someone was attempting to talk to me and one voice stuck out from the rest of the faint whispers. I hear the recognizable voice of Ms. Crowley speak to me. Good God, what does this crone want from me now?

“I suggest you start thinking about what to call yourself. You can’t go by your real name anymore. You need a new name for the new you, Amanda.”

And just like that, her voice blows away into the cool night air like a candle being blown out. I start to feel like I’m not where I was before, and look at my surroundings. I realize that I’m not on the dirt path anymore, but I’m standing before the cottage. I see an orange glow through the cloudy window, the smell of burning firewood tainting the air. I know that I didn’t light the fireplace in the cottage, so who the hell did it? If they think that the cottage is their home, they are wrong. They are dead wrong.

I limp my way to the front door of the rotting cottage, swing the door open with a loud bang, and glare at the individual sitting in the chair in front of the fire. A pair of slim legs with a small heels rest on the coffee table in front of them, and I went on the assumption it’s a girl that snuck in here. She didn’t flinch at the sound of the door opening; fine if they wanna be like that, I’ll watch her head-butt this bullet that I’m gonna fire into her skull.

“Shut the door already,” her smooth, and annoyed, voice spoke. “You’re letting all the heat out.”

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” I viciously snap at her as I lumber over to her. She merely sighed at my comment. “Don’t act like you don’t know who I am, Amanda. I’m the one who attached that note to your door several weeks ago. You do remember what the note said, right?”

I remember the note I found several weeks ago when I had my first psycho breakdown. I dig around trying to remember what the note said, and came up with nothing. The girl took note of my puzzled silence and hinted to me “Let me help you remember. Don’t go to sleep, you won't wake up. Who do you know says that catchphrase?”

Don’t go to sleep, you won’t wake up. Okay, things are starting to clear up a bit for me. But who says that? The little catchphrase repeats itself in my head over and over like a broken record, and then it clicks. I realize who says that and when I do, I see the girl looking at me with her soulless black eyes, and her long, black, wavy hair framing her neon white face. I remember her alright, but why is she here?

“Nice you finally meet you, Amanda” She says to me. “I’m Jane the Killer.”